And A Side of Love, Please?
by Morning Dew
Summary: One-Shot for Ershey. Sometimes, life just made sense enough to not even deal with the trifles imposed upon one; especially when a side of love was involved.


DISCLAIMER: I don't own Mush or Ershey, but I'll be darned if I don't own my dear Runner Conlon and myself. Have a nice day! .

A.N: This is a one-shot in exchange for the wonderful one Ershey wrote me called "Only One Night". Go read it! It's in my favorite's folder!

_**And A Side of Love, Please?**_

There were two things Kaya Williams absolutely abhorred: history class and boredom, and the two were indivisibly bound in one single hour-long interval immediately following lunch; it was, to say the least, the dreadful fifth period class taught by Mrs. Stein from which no student was guaranteed a passing grade or their sanity. To add to the already standing miseries of the day, gushes of rain were pulverizing the small city, the sky outside a massive monochrome backdrop of putrid granite and obsidian, the humidity like the scathing bitterness of copper. Kaya, who shall thus be referred to as Ershey – as she was more so known amongst her friends, was steadily plummeting down the abyss of sheer mind-numbing monotony as her black-painted fingernails drummed atop her desk in tune with the melody her lips emitted.

The song was from _RENT_, one of her favorite musicals, for which she had actually auditioned just a few days prior only to ascertain the news of her not being secured in the cast. Her spirits not dampened in the least, she then attempted to acquire for herself a small duty as stagehand perhaps; she'd even settle for the strenuous work of a techie if only to be apart of the production. But the sexist tyranny of one Mr. Adams, who was a more than mild promoter of double standards, declared backstage toiling was not meant for girls, but for purposeful young men who could handle the extra burden.

Ershey snorted. True, at only 5 feet and 4 inches, she was pretty much of petite stature, but she'd be damned if that meant she was incapable of handling the pressures of those fields which interested her. Tying back her gossamer waves of raven black hair with a band from her wrist, she yawned dramatically, hoping Mrs. Stein would get the message that her lecturing was less alluring than the aroma of five-day old meatloaf, and steadied her almond shaped chocolate eyes on her companion aside her. Dewey was one of the most studious alumni's at the sinkhole known as Freedom High School. She always took notes, always did her homework, always managed the extra credit assignments, and still had time for extracurricular activities, superior grades, and more than perfect relationships.

"How do you do it?"

Dewey stopped her flow of writing abruptly between a smudged date which could've read 1944 or 1844 and noting a fact about World War II. Blowing a fallen strand of brown curls from her face, she glanced up at Ershey with a small smirk adorning her lips. "Pardon?"

"How do you do it? How do you get on the honor roll every nine-week period, receive the role of Viola in our school's production of _Twelfth Night_, maintain a year-long relationship with Runner Conlon, and not go crazy!"

"Worried about our first day of work after school?"

"You know me too well."

Dewey smiled at this and patted her friend's shoulder with a gentle hand. They'd been the closest of companions since middle school, and now at the ripe age of 17, were beginning to see firsthand how cruel and hectic an adult life could very well be. Being in Advance Placement classes for the past three years of high school already loaded them with a wagon's worth of responsibilities, and if that wasn't enough, they were being coerced into the workforce by straitlaced parents for a reason as petty as needing to feel the value existent in cashing one's own paycheck. "I'm sure it'll have its benefits. Maybe now you can buy some stuff you've always wanted."

"Dewey, working at _Harold's Happy Hotdogs_ is not going to provide me with any benefits whatsoever. If anything, it's going to make me turn suicidal!" The last few words were issued in a loud whisper, and caused Mrs. Stein to turn from the dry erase broad upon which she was writing notes in her barely legible script and regard Ershey with two faded blue eyes (one of which was glass) narrowed in annoyance.

"Class," spoke the old woman in her terribly raspy voice, "it looks like tonight, on account of Miss Williams, you'll each be responsible for reading chapter twenty-three in its entirety and taking full-length notes."

The class grumbled in response and sent angry glares to the two girls who'd been the cause of their sorrow.

From that point onward, the day didn't heighten any. The two friends had to walk to work (a twenty minute distance at the least) through the pathetic drizzle of the already groggy day, sloshing atop mud-filled puddles and those dead leaves deemed as insignificant by the trees that had once held so dearly to them. The sun was barely in sight as it from time to time hid behind the monstrosities of the bleak clouds, and the temperature was beginning to drastically fall, making most everyone sniffle at least twice a minute as they rubbed their running noses with the sleeves of their shirts and headed to far off destinations.

_Harold's Happy Hotdogs _wasn't necessarily the type of environment one yearned to enter upon battling off an already reeking day, but Dewey and Ershey had no choice, and so cast aside preferences and partialities if only to get through with the rest of the afternoon. Using the two-stall restrooms in the back, they changed into their required uniforms: black shoes, ivory white sailor-style bellbottoms, a matching color button-down blouse with a sewn-on nametag, and the beloved sailor hat with a smiling stuffed hotdog attached to its top. They grimaced at their reflections in the dirtied mirrors and each heaved their own sighs.

"Wow, I look like one of those robotic chicks from the fifties," commented Ershey, as she tied her hair into messy pigtails and swabbed some cherry-flavored gloss across her lips. She couldn't fathom what she had gotten herself into, and what's more, what idiotic soulless monkey deemed an entire outfit of white as the mandatory armory for a food-service employment! Only a minute inside the thing and she had already stained it with a wet blemish from the sink. "Damn, I'm going to have to bleach this thing every night!"

Dewey laughed and tidied herself up respectively, positioning her curls in perfect balance on either side of her shoulders, pinching her cheeks to return to them their blush, and making her hat look just right; then again, there was no possible way the confounded hat could look 'just right'. It was absolutely ridiculous. She had the feeling of being the outcast jester of a three ring circus show. In fact, she was beginning to think the job offer of dancing around masses of four-year olds as 'Penny Penguin' at the birthday sect of the local arcade for 5.75 an hour was a bargain. "Let's just hope no one we know develops a sudden urge for fast food today, hmm?"

It was a shallow aspiration, but they clung to it nonetheless, dodging this way and that behind the counters of their large serving trays should anyone who resembled a Freedom High student in the least suddenly appeared. Waitressing simply wasn't the most endearing of affairs. Ershey received a crash course in this truth within hours of having clocked in too. She wasn't quite sure if it was normal to maneuver her way through the kitchen atop fallen hamburger buns, fries, and milkshake spills, but the mere concept repulsed her regardless of what norms it fell between. The fact that she had to dig out the lettuce for any ordered salads with her bare fingers birthed in her an allegiance to never eat out again, and hourly run-in's with the cooks (which not so strangely enough involved a number of obscenities as well as catapulted slabs of steak against the wall used to defrost the meats) created in her a yearning to walk out and scream a plead for help at the top of her lungs.

As if those few misdemeanors weren't harsh enough, from just over a dozen tables she'd only garnered a total tip amount of 9 dollars and 50 cents, plus a Mohawk-style Ken doll some twisted little girl had left behind. Having to listen to tracks from the sixties play continuously over the restaurant's set station badgered her mind, and the heat created amidst walking in and out of the kitchens into the poorly air-conditioned dining area was exhausting her to no end. She needed a sip of water, but hadn't the time to rest but for a minute to indulge herself with a drink. She needed a relaxation off her feet, but wouldn't be sent on break for another hour or two. Strands of hair plastered against her forehead and breath nearly coming out in pants, she couldn't help but collapse onto a stool before the counter where Dewey stood at the register.

"I can't do it anymore," she said tiredly, taking on the tone of a small whining child as she stomped her feet against the railing of the stool. "I want to go home. I want to sleep. I want to curl up on my bed in my Christmas pajamas and watch the soccer game." She folded her arms and pounded her forehead over and over against her wrists.

"Oh get a grip, Ershey. It's not _that _horrendous. And just think, maybe in a year or so we'll actually get a hefty raise and promotion."

The other snorted and replied sarcastically, "you mean in just a few months I won't have to wear one hot dog on my head, but _two_?" She feigned a sparkle in her eyes and clamped her hands together in thorough adoration. "Dear me, dear me!"

"Don't take that tone with me, missy!"

"Seriously, though," said Ershey, a frown forming on her lips and in the sadness mirrored through her eyes, "this isn't at all what I thought it'd be years ago. It's not even fun. Shouldn't people enjoy their jobs?" She diverted her gaze to the scribbled orders of her notepad which she still had to post for the cooks, but waited for a response from her friend. "Dewey...Dewey?" She finally looked back up and noted the brunette's gaze was far-off and dream-captured, her smile evident of one who'd left reality for better times. Ershey spun around in her chair and upon seeing the cause of such, rolled her eyes. "Oh God, here we go."

Runner Conlon, younger cousin to the more prestiged soccer team captain Spot Conlon, sauntered into the restaurant fresh from practice, his golden locks of hair damp but yet with sheen, and his soccer uniform soaking wet and muddy from the rain, but still incredibly attractive; at least on him...or more so, at least in Dewey's opinion. He, somewhat panting from a long day's work, plopped down onto the stool aside Ershey and reached for his girlfriend's hand across the counter. "Hey," he said simply, smiling at her with those gorgeous emerald green eyes that contained the spells to charm any with their mesmerizing trickery.

"Hey you," said Dewey in return, leaning over his way to deal him a quick kiss of greeting before her supervisor caught her engaging in public displays of affection.

"The guys were hungry so I suggested we head over here for a quick bite to eat before going over the game plans for Friday's game." He laced his fingers with hers and relished in the attention he was given. They made such a cute couple it was almost pathetic sometimes, watching them ogle each other with giggles and exchange innocent kisses between classes at school.

Ershey rolled her eyes again, but then bolted upright in her seat when Runner's words hit her. "Whoa, wait! The guys? What guys! Where? Now?!" She turned toward the section of the dining area to which he motioned and whimpered upon seeing half the Men's Varsity Soccer team piling into chairs, each hungry beyond belief...and needing a server. "Oh no, oh no. There's no chance in hell I'm going to waitress that table, Dewey. Look at them; those are the giants of our school! Look at me...there's a _hotdog _on my head. A hotdog!"

She threw her hands up in the air and proceeded with her rant, but knew she had a job to do and that Dewey was too immersed in her discourse with Runner to leave the register and take up the daunting feat. And so, breathing in and out in pre-planned cycles, she attempted ever so hard to calm herself in remembering they were no more than high school boys, and that ten years from now at the high school reunion, none of them would recall her after school job so long as they didn't have a camera readily available. She scuffled off toward them, getting her notepad and pen prepared for a speedy ordering session. "Just breathe, just breathe, just breathe..."

She wasn't ten seconds at the table with having done no more than smile in greeting before one Jack Kelly pointed at her childish hat and claimed it was "like, totally awesome." Rolling her eyes because she didn't see how it couldn't be an insult, she kept her eyes affixed to the booklet in her hands. "Welcome to _Harold's Horny Dogs_, I'm your ser..." She stopped short and gasped upon realization of what she'd just uttered. Covering her parted lips with a hand, she stood there in horror as the guys laughed most boisterously.

"Shut your traps, guys. Y'all are so immature." It took that one gentle voice to silence them. He sat aside the team captain, donning his varsity letter jacket with a certain air of his own authority. His face was soft but stern all the same, with smooth features that could easily flare if need be. "Sorry about my friends. Their minds are all in the gutter."

"It's fine, I deal with losers day in and day out." She smirked at having accomplished an insult. Sure to most she appeared weak and cowardly, but if anyone dared mess with her, she'd a repertoire of comebacks ready to assault them.

The boy who'd defended her chuckled. "The name's Mush. And you are?"

"Kayla," she replied smoothly, giving a nod to affirm the answer. "And I'll be your server today, as if you couldn't already tell." She laughed at her own joke and then focused back to the ordering notebook. "So do you guys already know what you want or do I have to read the specials for you one by one?" Fortunately, this wasn't necessary, and she was more than happy to know she wouldn't have to entertain the brigade of fools for longer than usual. With each boy taken care of, she triumphantly dallied back behind the counter, placed the order, and returned to Dewey and Runner.

"Hey Runner," she called to him, jabbing his side with the blunt end of her pen, "who's that guy sitting beside your cousin? I've never seen him before."

"Mush, you mean? He's a transfer from Cypress Creek High; was the star player on their soccer team. He's pretty good, too. Word has it he led their group to nationals last year." His eyes faded in intensity as if summing up competition, but then returned to their vivacity and rested back onto Ershey. "Why do you ask?"

Dewey was already ahead of the girl, though. She'd seen that star-struck look in her friend's eyes many a time to know what she was thinking. "Runner?" she said sweetly to her boyfriend, coming from behind the counter and moving between his legs where he sat on the stool. She pushed her bottom lip out in a pout and let her hands roam up and down his chest. "Will you talk to Mush for Ershey?"

Ershey was already protesting. "Whoa, what! I don't even _know _him! I mean, sure he's cute and all, but..." She wasn't quite sure how to finish the statement. He was the most gorgeous boy she'd seen at Freedom High ever since she first entered as a freshman years ago. His tan was brilliantly well-toned and flawless, his hair an adorable mass of soft curls upon his head. When he smiled, his whole face lighted up, like that of a child opening his first gift under the Christmas tree. And his kindness; it was unmistakable in the way he'd pacified his friends robust behavior and had saved her from their ridicule.

"Ignore her," Dewey said to her boyfriend. "She's just shy around new people. Talk to him for me please, baby?" Runner opened his mouth to respond, but no words would leave his tongue. The look of confusion in his eyes, however, was clear. "Just tell him my good friend here wants his number or something, hook them up!"

"But, Dewey..."

"You know, I don't _have _to come over your house tonight..."

Runner instantly nodded and slid off the stool, enslaved to her in every which way. As he proceeded, Ershey smacked the back of her friend's head. "Are you insane! What is this, the dating game? I didn't even find him _that _attractive," she lied.

"Oh really?" Dewey arched an eyebrow at this and folded her arms with a smirk. "Maybe you can tell him that for yourself, then, because here he comes." She nodded down the way Runner had gone.

"What! He is? Oh my God!" She spun around just in time to find herself face to face with the one called Mush. Placing a wide grin on her face, she let out an enthused but taken aback "hey!"

Mush laughed, that beautiful smile touching his lips. "I was wondering if I could add something to my order maybe?"

"Oh, sure!" Ershey stood there for a moment, waiting for him to dictate to her what else it was he desired, but then belatedly realizing she needed her order booklet, she snaked a hand behind her to feel for it on the counter without losing eye contact with him. With a laugh, Dewey pushed it to her fingers and shook her head as the girl snatched it and then readied herself to scribble some more. "And what would you like?"

"Mm, how about a strawberry milkshake instead of a chocolate one." He nodded and folded his hands behind his back. "And maybe a side of love, please?"

Ershey's smooth script blotted across the page as she looked up at him incredously. "Dewey?" she said to the girl, not even looking behind her to address her companion. "I think I'm going to take my break now, kay?" She did away with her hat, discarded her apron, and took Mush's hand, dragging him away aside her toward the restaurant's exit. She wouldn't return back to work that day, or any day thereafter.

Sometimes, life just made sense enough to not even deal with the trifles imposed upon one; especially when a side of love was involved.


End file.
